


Temeraire

by sorion



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, Romance, retrospection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorion/pseuds/sorion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is not a man to retire. At least not without a proper incentive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Q

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to know if I could pull this off without making Bond seem out of character...  
> Also, I'm calling Q Desmond again. I like it, and I'm sticking with it ;)

Later, Q will think about how he really should have seen it coming. There must have been signs galore, since decisions like that don't happen on a whim. Not for people like them. But signs Bond may or may not have been presenting him with are not at the forefront of his mind when Eve enters his office with a curious expression somewhere between gobsmacked, impressed, and warm.

Q looks up from the bit of paperwork he hasn't managed to saddle someone else with and blinks at the unexpectedly emotive Eve studying him. "Yes?"

Eve remains standing by the door with a stack of papers and the aforementioned complex expression. "You know damn well why I'm here," she says expectantly and slightly out of breath with a grin that desperately wants to widen more than she lets it.

Q raises his eyebrows. "The monthly reports you're carrying got you unusually excited because the budget allows for a new espresso machine?" he guesses.

Eve is about to reply with something sarcastic, but then Q's tone of voice seems to make her realise that, "You… really have no clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

Which in return makes Q realise that there is _actually_ something going on, and that it's not just another round of what constitutes _'smalltalk'_ for the likes of them. He stands and walks around his desk, when Eve holds out one of the files to him.  
He takes it, opens it... and then he really has to sit down again. Since he doesn't feel like navigating himself back into the wheeled desk chair for fear of falling flat on his behind, he instead shuffles over to his couch where he sits heavily, never once taking his eyes off the paper in his hands.

This is... inconceivable. This is not something he ever would have thought possible. Not so soon. Not for years, if ever. Certainly he wouldn't have thought it possible when this whole thing between him and Bond started.

***

Despite getting along well enough, Bond and his Quartermaster didn't spend all that much time in each other's company. There was the inevitable exchange of new and later damaged equipment, and more often than not, Q was Bond's handler during missions. (Mostly because Q didn't take any of Bond's shit without firing back in equal amounts, and because they both found their verbal sparring both amusing and focusing. And if they happened to find the other quite pleasing to behold, that was none of anyone's business.)

But they didn't _'hang out'_ for lack of a better expression. They didn't meet for drinks, and Bond didn't drop by Q Branch after hours. Not until _that_ day, anyway.

It was long past midnight, and Q was holed up in his private office, refusing to leave and almost religiously trying to drown himself in work that could have waited for days or even weeks to be completed. He would have done anything to keep himself from thinking, from hearing the echoes of that gurgling, coughing voice...

He squeezed his eyes shut, sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes again and looked up when the door opened. He almost visibly flinched at an impeccably dressed Bond entering with a bottle of Vodka and a mug. If Q remembered correctly, Vodka was not usually Bond's preferred drink of choice, but then he supposed it went down more easily if one were intent on getting drunk quickly.

Q sighed. "What do you want, 007? I'm really not in the mood for..." He straightened in his seat when Bond merely leaned over his desk and half-filled Q's own empty mug with a drink, before doing the same to the mug he'd brought.

"You shouldn't be drinking alone," Bond said and installed himself on Q's couch, taking a long drag of Vodka.

Q blinked at him. This was out of left field, even for someone as unpredictable as Bond. "In case it escaped your notice, Bond, I wasn't drinking."

Bond just looked at him, unimpressed. "You would have worked yourself into the ground until someone forced you to leave, and then you would have got smashed in your flat the moment the silence got too much."

Q felt something cold and hard manifest somewhere in his stomach area. He tried to swallow against the rising bile, but his mouth was dry.

Bond finished his mug and poured himself another drink, took a sip, looked straight ahead, and remarked casually, "The first time I lost someone on the job was in the Navy."

Q's eyes widened, and for a moment, he forgot the iron grip on his stomach.

"Bloody stupid accident, it was," Bond continued, sipping again.

Q squinted at his mug, and after a split-decision that he didn't think he made consciously, he reached for the drink and emptied half of it. The pain subsided a bit with the burn, and he stood to go sit next to Bond.

Bond didn't react to his presence at all. "I don't know if you knew about that," he added to his story.

Q shook his head a bit. "Just your MI6 file. I could access the whole of it, of course, but..." He shrugged. He didn't actually know why he never read the whole file.

Bond nodded minutely in silent acknowledgement. "It's not like I never lost someone in the field since," he said with deceptive calm.

God. Q knew all about that. Just thinking it made his head spin. He kept staring ahead, just like his companion.

"You'll know about the ones marked as problematic in my personal file. You know about Venice, of course," Bond said, the chatty tone making Q squirm uncomfortably for a second or two. "Wouldn't do for the Quartermaster to be unaware that one of his agents could suddenly fly off the handle because he's emotionally compromised."

This startled Q enough that he turned to look at the other man. "Bond..." his voice was hardly more than a breath of air.

"No, it's alright," Bond said immediately. "It's the truth." He briefly looked at Q before returning to staring into the same middle distance.

"Bond, no. I, please..." Q didn't know what he wanted to say, only that he had to say something. Just to make sure... He took a large swallow of Vodka. "I never thought any less of you... because of... because of that."

Bond refilled both their mugs. "Not like that was the last time, either. You remember the mess when we met, after all."

Q thought of M and Bond's old manor house.

"There was Ronson, back when we lost the list in the first place."

Q could no longer look away from Bond, even if the look wasn't returned. He hadn't expected to hear that name. M's name, yes. Not Ronson.

"We were shagging occasionally, you know," Bond said, his voice still as disturbingly blasé as before. Blasé enough that Q couldn't but understand that there was much more hiding behind the words.

Q could feel his blood run cold. He remembered the report of when Patrice made off with the list. "You had to leave him behind," be burst out without thinking. Alcohol always had had that effect on him.

"Then of course there was M. The old M. The one who hired us both," he added the last bit with a small quirk of lips in Q's direction. "The one I decided to use as bait before I got her killed."

"No," Q couldn't stop the word even had he wanted to. "No, no, no," he babbled, shaking his head, vigorously. "I heard all that, back then. And it wasn't your fault. She agreed. She even said it was a good idea. I heard! Even _Mallory_ agreed when Tanner and I worked on those breadcrumbs you wanted!" His voice became more and more animated and intense with every burst of words. "You offered the best possible solution, and you know it," he concluded, firmly.

Bond's expression was mild when he turned slightly to return Q's agitated look. "So did you."

Q felt his harsh breath catch in his throat, Bond's surprisingly clear eyes steadily holding his own captive. He swallowed more Vodka against the returning bile and had to cough once, his eyes watering.  
"I heard him drown in his own blood," he forced out. 004. Just a number with a name and a man behind it.

"I know."

"I was still talking to him, and then he just..." He furiously scrubbed at his cheek where he couldn't hold back a traitorous tear. "I'll be fine," he quickly said.

"Of course you will." Bond didn't sound as if he doubted this at all.

"It's just..." There was nothing else to add. At least Q didn't have the words for it.

"You never forget your first," Bond filled the gap poignantly.

At that, a shattering sob escaped Q's throat, and there was nothing he could have done to stop the floodgates opening. Come morning, he would probably feel horribly embarrassed for breaking down in front of MI6's prized agent, but just then, Bond merely sat with him, not offering meaningless words or hugs. Just the presence so that neither of them had to drink alone.

Surprisingly, come morning, Q felt none of the remorse he had expected. Bond had already left, leaving Q asleep on his couch with only the bottle of Vodka (that wasn't even emptied) and their two mugs to mark his earlier presence.

*

After that day, Bond often lingered a bit longer in Q Branch than he had before, and Q's snark was perhaps a bit less acerbic, but it would still take months before things between them shifted once more.

*

It was on a day when Bond returned his equipment after a mission only just before Q left in the evening, which resulted in both of them leaving together, chatting easily.

Q held back a yawn. "I could kill for a good steak, right about now," he informed Bond when he realised that he had probably skipped lunch. At least he couldn't remember eating anything. (Which didn't always mean that he actually hadn't eaten, but it was more likely. He was awfully forgetful about such things.)

"You don't have to kill. Just ask me nicely, and I'll take you out to dinner."

Q stopped in his stride to face Bond. "Hm. That... sounds surprisingly appealing."

Bond chuckled, his eyes alight with amusement. "Not exactly what I'd call _'asking nicely'_ , but I'll take it." He kept walking towards his car, assuming correctly that Q would follow. " _Somebody_ ought to feed you."

Q felt too light-hearted in that moment to protest the assumption that he needed outside help for feeding himself at all. He was even more pleased when he saw Bond's car in pristine condition.

Bond didn't miss the look. "Satisfied?" his smirk only this side of smug.

Q hummed with a tiny smile showing a fraction of the passion he always felt for his work. "Who wouldn't be satisfied to see that the fruits of one's labour are being appreciated?"

Bond walked around the car to the driver's side. "My dearest Q, I always appreciate what you give me. My utilising these fruits to the destructive extent that Queen and country demand does not reflect my appreciation."

Q got into the car and closed the door, looking at Bond sardonically. "Queen and country demand that you feed my Walther to a komodo dragon?"

Bond sat with his hands on the wheel and returned Q's look. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

Q's expression melted into one of pure amusement. "It is an awfully good story, you have to admit."

Bond grinned and cheerfully tore out of the parking garage. "And Eve has always ensured that it stays fresh in everybody's mind."

"Only fair," Q replied, having expected that comment. "As you never tire of reminding her that she _'took the bloody shot'_ ," he quoted.

"I assure you that that episode was much more memorable than the bloody komodo dragon."

Q didn't have an answer for that. "Well…" he said after a long moment of no sound but both their breathing and the lovely purr of his lovely piece of art on wheels, "… they're both a good example of your resilience." And he was grateful for every one of those examples. Every single one that ended up being a story and not a reason for an obituary.

Bond's eyes flicked briefly to his companion. He seemed to read Q correctly and changed the subject. "Is the steak still on the menu?"

Q's mental gears switched quickly. "If that is alright with you."

"Of course," Bond replied, clearly already planning the route to drive to whatever upscale restaurant he had in mind that would satisfy his spoiled palate. "I know just the place."

Q smirked benignly, already losing the darker thoughts and slipping back into the comfortable companionship they had got used to in the past months. "I leave the fate of my dinner in your capable hands, 007."

It was easy (almost surprisingly easy, though neither of them was actually surprised) to spend time off the clock just eating dinner and discussing limited private and restricted professional topics in company that would understand both the words and what was behind them. It had always been easy for them. Less than a minute after they first exchanged words if Q remembered correctly. A minute in which they both came to understand that, while they may have played different instruments, they were very much in tune. Were both very passionate musicians.

While they were enjoying a divine dessert, Q finally breached a topic that he kept meaning to bring up but could never quite make himself before.  
"Bond…"

"Not sure this is a _'Bond'_ kind of situation…" Bond murmured.

Q blinked. "Pardon?" He thought he understood the words but was unsure as to their meaning.

"James, Q. I believe we've both earned our private time after the day at work." He smiled a self-deprecating little smile.

Q hesitantly smiled back. He agreed, really, but, ironically, what he wanted to talk about was work-related. "James," he relented. The name rolled off his tongue much more easily than he could have expected. "I… never did thank you for what you did for me. Three months ago."

Bond took another spoonful of his dessert, allowing Q to find his words in his own time.

"And I know you didn't report it."

"Nothing to report," Bond said, briskly. "Your reaction was perfectly normal, and you regained your footing quickly. And I'm sure the psychologists had a go or two at you afterwards, anyway."

Q didn't roll his eyes, but he did sigh.

Bond quirked his lips again. "And I'm sure you survived that as well."

Q's answering smile was more real this time before it softened into an honest look. "Nevertheless. Thank you."

"The least I could do after what you did for one of ours."

Q's movements froze save for a nervous twitch in his hand. His voice shook slightly when he answered. "What do you mean?"

"Q… none of us expects anything but a death on our own." His glacial eyes never left Q's. "And he wasn't alone when he died."

Q's lips involuntarily trembled enough that he bit them briefly to stop it. "It's not my job to keep you company; it's my job to keep you alive."

"And you do that every day. The company is just a bonus." He raised his glass in a toast.  
When Q refused to look comforted by those words, Bond put down his glass again. "Q. I'm only saying this because you need to hear it, and because Sam can't do it himself: Thank you."

Q's eyes darkened. "It wasn't enough. What I did."

"Yes. It was." Bond's voice remained firm and calm.

"Not enough to save him."

"No, but unless that mop of hair of yours means you're a wizard, that wasn't in your hands."

That startled a dry laugh out of Q's throat. "I didn't think pop culture was quite your thing, James."

"I aim to surprise." His smile widened at his accomplishment of distracting his dinner companion. The distraction didn't hide the fact that Q was about ready to call it a night. Bond cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Come on, then. I'll take you home."

For a second Q looked like he wanted to thank Bond yet again, then he just nodded once, and Bond returned it with an air of finality.

The car drive to Q's home was quiet but not uncomfortably so. Once Bond stopped the car in front of the entrance to the building, Q cleared his throat.

"Can I interest you in a cup of tea upstairs?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the building and decidedly _not_ on Bond. He wasn't acting on an impulse. Not really. He had just wanted to see how the evening went before deciding how to close the night.

Bond couldn't have not smiled at that, and he checked Q's expression just to make sure he wasn't completely misinterpreting the words. Comfort from someone he genuinely liked, someone who was unlikely to die in the field, and someone he didn't have to worry would try to kill him when his back was turned… it was truly something to treasure.  
"You know…" he finally said, good-naturedly, "I'm pretty sure even my file states that I don't drink tea."

Q smirked a bit, amused, then turned his head to look at Bond. "I could also offer you coffee," he said, both men visibly on the same wavelength, "or we could just skip the beverages altogether."

Bond waited just long enough to enjoy the moment a bit longer. "I think I'd like to take you up on your offer, Q."

"Desmond." And at Bond's curious tilt of his head, Q added, "This doesn't sound like a _'Q'_ type of situation."

"Desmond," Bond repeated, contentedly. Then he manoeuvred the car into the building's parking garage Q directed him to.

Neither of them felt particularly rushed, and once in the flat, Q hung up their coats, before Bond cupped Q's face with both hands and kissed him with a skill level that made Q wonder for a moment if he'd ever want to bother kissing anyone else after this. Q sighed loudly against the gentle and insistent lips and decided that he'd just leave Bond in charge of tonight's encounter, if only to see if his reputation was justified. Given the kiss, however, Q was inclined to believe – Jesus, what _was_ the man doing with his tongue? – every single rumour about Bond's prowess, no matter how ludicrous.  
He'd have felt bad about making Bond work for both their enjoyment if Bond hadn't so obviously taken pleasure from being the one allowed to give it to his quartermaster. To show his appreciation, Q very consciously didn't allow any conscious thoughts at all and just let himself (uncharacteristically vocally) fall into Bond's capable, seductive hands.

By the time Bond entered his carefully (teasingly) prepared body, tears sprang to Q's eyes from the excruciatingly sweet sensory overload, and he clung to his lover with desperate hands, Bond's voice rough in his ear.

"God, you're gorgeous like this. _Christ_ , Q…"

Hearing Bond so lost in his passion as to slip back into using Q instead of Desmond made Q whimper. It was as if, now, he got to be who he was with Bond, _for_ Bond. Or perhaps as if Bond understood that Q was Q even to himself more than Desmond.  
" _James_ ," he himself on the other hand took irrational pleasure from calling his agent what he was to him right now and not to MI6.

It felt like their understanding, comradery, and comfort manifested themselves in physical form, meeting them with every thrust and harsh breath.

Q climaxed first, holding Bond close for a sobbing kiss through it, and Bond followed shortly after, never breaking the kiss.

Q didn't remember when he had last felt so thoroughly relaxed, and from the feel of it, there didn't seem to be any tension left in Bond either.  
Q breathed out a joyous little giggle, making Bond turn his head and kiss Q's neck.

"That was unexpected," Bond rumbled into Q's neck, bit the skin lightly, and then rolled off his bed mate.

Q breathed deeply and hummed contentedly. "Perhaps."

Bond chuckled. "And perhaps not."

Q returned the warm laugh, and they kissed for a bit before cleaning up.

And after a noncommittal, "You can stay," from Q, Bond decided that, yes, he might as well.

*

In the following weeks and months, there was never a need for either of them to define the free time they increasingly spent in each other's company as anything but companionship and a growing friendship, even if they both garnered unexpected warmth (and frequent sex) from it.

They were crisp and professional at MI6, taking an occasionally worrying delight in their work both separate and together, their developing closeness adding oil to their already well-oiled machine (and possibly to all the fires they started in enemy territory). In short: they were an efficient force to be reckoned with, and even M raised an impressed eyebrow at the evaluations which showed that Bond's missions with Q as his primary handler reached hitherto unknown levels of success.

*

The day that added some fear to their dynamic was when Q got (his stupid, _stupid_ arse) kidnapped, and Bond never waited for the order to go and retrieve him, at least doubling the number of regulations he regularly broke on a random Thursday.

 

The villains _du jour_ didn't manage to do any permanent damage in the short time they had their hands on Q, leaving the young quartermaster with only a few bumps and bruises. Of course, as often is the case with such things, the physical bumps and bruises are not the only issue.

Bond charged to the rescue with medical evac on his heels, not leaving Q's side for an instant until they safely reached home soil and HQ. Then Q was whisked away to medical, a thorough debrief with both M and a psychologist, followed by another two hours with the latter to ensure that Q was in a stable enough state to go home.

By the time a company driver ("No more unaccompanied traipsing about town, Quartermaster!") brought him to his door and Q could close it behind himself, he was too knackered for the expected panic to manifest. And Bond was sitting on his couch anyway, apparently halfway into drowning his own panic of almost losing yet another bed mate.

"About time," Bond grumbled. "Are you alright?"

Q smiled tiredly. "Thanks to you."

Bond didn't look happier about that, and it reminded Q of the fact that doing _'everything'_ didn't always feel like doing enough.  
"You need a tracker," Bond stated firmly. "If we hadn't planned to have dinner that night, I wouldn't have noticed your absence in far too long."

Q sighed and sat down next to Bond. "Medical already tagged me with one of my trackers on Mallory's order before I got to leave." He took Bond's glass to take a large swallow of his Scotch, then he handed it back, leaning into the cushions.

Bond didn't finish his drink and instead put the glass on the coffee table. For a long moment, he studied Q. "And how... do you feel?"

"Fine." Q's lips tense. "I was told that I should be prepared for delayed reactions. I've some tablets somewhere in case I can't sleep." He absently patted his coat pockets with both hands. "I'm off work for a week, which is stupid, because having too much time on my hands isn't going to help."

Bond studied him for a while longer. "Let's go to bed," he finally said.

Q looked torn. On the one hand, he really wanted Bond with him. James. On the other hand... "I'm not really up for anything fun."

"Neither am I."

This time, Q studied Bond, reading a myriad of emotions in those laser sharp eyes. Emotions that would have been hidden well behind Bond's façade and the Scotch, had Q not learned some of the poker player's tells. Bond was seriously shaken by the events of the last couple of days, and while that didn't necessarily surprise Q, it was nice to see that he was somewhat important to the emotionally impenetrable agent. Especially, since Q had long since realised that what he himself was feeling could perhaps be described as _'love'_. Or at the very least fondness interspersed with frustration and a big dollop of _'I am going to kick his arse or maybe just fuck it when he gets back, the bloody reckless, gorgeous bastard!'_

He didn't say any of that however. He just reached for Bond's hand, slowly entwined their fingers, and then walked them both to the bedroom.

At first, exhaustion did claim him, and he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows. However, post-stress sleep is rarely ever restful, and he woke in a sudden panic after no more than three hours, struggling with the blanket as if fighting invisible hands trying to grab him.

The voice accompanied by hands that held him tenderly and without restricting him finally woke him up again.

"It's alright, Desmond," Bond said the moment he could feel the struggling subside. "You're alright."

And while Q believed him, his left hand darted to the side to turn on the lamp on his bedside table, because he had to _see_.

Bond kept his hands gently present and watched Q calm down again. "You're alright," he repeated.

Q's breathing slowed, and once he was awake enough, he got angry at himself. "Don't know why I'd even react like this. It's not like they did anything to me." He remembered the reports of things Bond had to go through, after all…

Bond pulled the prickly young man into his arms. "Don't be an idiot, it doesn't suit you. I'm sure the shrink told you what to expect."

"You don't react like this," Q grumbled, and Bond pushed him back to look at him, incredulously.

"I'm going to put this down to stress, since you're a bit young to have memory lapses like that," Bond said, sardonically. "You've slept in my bed often enough to know not to wake me during a nightmare unless you're well out of my reach."

Q sighed, and Bond continued.

"I have a laundry list of coping mechanisms – not all of which are entirely healthy – and by now I know exactly which tricks in what order get me in working shape again as quickly as possible. Things like that don't just happen on their own. That takes work, and I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure that you won't need it enough to ever develop a strategy." He released his breath when he saw the dawning comprehension in Q's face. "You have enough to deal with keeping other people alive; you shouldn't have to deal with being a target yourself."

Some of the tension left Q's body and he allowed himself to melt into Bond's embrace. "And I have you to come for me if I need it."

"And you have my back when I'm out there." He cupped Q's head with a hand to push him back enough to look at him again. Then he smiled and kissed him.  
" _Don't_ get your stupid arse kidnapped again, though," he murmured against the lips

Q laughed into the following kiss. "I'll do my best."

Neither of them could sleep after that, and they didn't talk. They just lay resting until the sun came up in the morning to dissipate the night's demons.

*

"Are you shagging James?"

Q should have seen this one coming. In fact, even though he regularly shared a drink or two with Moneypenny (and Tanner, on the occasions the chief of staff could make it), Q'd had the feeling that there was something glinting in Eve's eyes when she dragged him out of his lair that night.

At least she had waited until Tanner excused himself to the loo before asking that question.

Q took a sip of his drink. "Would denying it do me any good?" he asked.

Eve leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand. "Not one bit," she said, smirking smugly. Then her expression turned devious. "Welcome to the club."

Q snorted into his glass.

"Then again," Eve added, "you're in a club of your own, aren't you? How long's it been now?"

Q smiled lazily, feeling generous (and not minding sharing that information with her). "What'd you estimate?"

Eve hummed, never taking her calculating eyes off Q. "The general consensus is that it must have been soon after you got taken..."

"There's a general consensus?" Q blurted out, and only a second later realised that this was indeed what had caught his attention, the kidnapping slowly fading into a grey fog of irrelevance.

Eve smirked a bit but otherwise didn't respond to that and just continued what she had been saying, "... but I'm convinced it must have been well before that."

Q finished his drink and signed the bartender for another one. Then he leaned back in his seat. "Well, if there's an office pool, you won."

As this was the moment Tanner re-joined them, Eve grinned widely at their chief of staff and cheerfully declared, "You owe me twenty quid!"

Q groaned and slumped further down in his seat. "Oh, for god's sake!"

It took Tanner a moment to figure out what they were even talking about, then he sat back down. "That long? Really? Huh."

Eve looked inappropriately happy with the situation. "And the novelty hasn't worn off yet?" she asked Q, making him roll his eyes.

"That it's been going on for so long is a novelty in and of itself," he replied, elegantly avoiding to directly answer the question.

"True," Eve admitted, nodding. "The two of you make for an awfully handsome mental picture. Not that I've ever actually _seen_ you together."

Q got his drink, and once his alcohol muddled mind arrived at the conclusion that Tanner knowing about his and Bond's... get-togethers might have ramifications, he straightened in his seat again. "Uh... Tanner. Does M...?" He made a vague gesture with his hands.

Both Eve and Tanner sent him a look pitying his innocence of all things spy-related.

"He does have eyes, you know," Tanner finally said, mildly. But, what with him generally being a nice person, he took pity on Q due to his horrified expression. "It's not... exactly forbidden for employees to... err... dabble. Though it's not encouraged."

"At all," Eve put in her piece of mind.

"At all," Tanner conceded with a small nod of his head. "But as long as the involved parties are discreet, and the, uh, affair doesn't affect work or endanger anyone..." he trailed off and shrugged. "And your evaluations are excellent. So." After that, he decided that this wasn't a topic he had the vocabulary for and returned to his drink.

Eve suddenly huffed when a thought occurred to her. "What's M supposed to do anyway? Tell those two," she tilted her head towards Q, "... to break it off? I'm sure that would go over well..."

Q snorted a giggle at the image of anyone trying to tell Bond what he was allowed to do in his free time. Then he realised that Eve had spoken of both of them and felt a small flash of pride that apparently he was too important to piss off even for M. Then he just burst into giggles, because, really, the image of M confronting them about whom they were sleeping with was a funny one.

It only took seconds before the other two joined in, Tanner doing his level best to not crack up too badly, but eventually, the alcohol won out. In fact, the funny thing (that wasn't even all _that_ funny, really) amused them to such an extent that their security detail a few tables over began to doubt that their assignment that night was time well spent.

When the giggles had subsided into the occasional hiccup, Tanner remembered something. "You should, however," he added with a soft air of admonishment, unable to help himself, "fill out the appropriate forms, one of these days."

Q stared into his drink. It wasn't like those forms demanded a definition of the... connection he had with Bond, but it made people think about filling out the slot for the _'next of kin'_ and such, and that led to thinking of last wills and other things... But, yes, he was fully aware that they shouldn't have put it off for this long.

Eve's expression turned fond, as she watched Q process the comment. "You seem happy enough with the arrangement," she noted.

Q shrugged and smiled. He knew better than to deny it. It wasn't that he was a loner at work, but his (both exemplary and required) commitment did wreak havoc with his life outside of MI6, and it was comforting to have a companion with whom one could shop-talk _and_ just chat. Nobody from his life pre-MI6 knew what he did for a living, and while he had made friends at work, the type of pillow talk he and Bond got up to was unimaginable with any other partner, really, and it suited both their unique approaches to many things. (Some of which normal human beings would consider completely unacceptable for post-coital conversations, given that the hushed, murmured words were occasionally interspersed with kisses and the discussion of applications for portable, lethal countermeasures.)  
No, he knew better than to deny it.

"Are you in love with him?" Eve pressed with the same tone of voice.

Tanner pretended he didn't just witness that question and hid behind his drink.

Q's soft expression didn't change at all. "Only a little."

At that, Tanner lowered his glass, stunned.

Q shrugged again. "Saying it isn't going to change anything."

Eve's smile widened. "You've always been awfully pragmatic for a romantic. Or maybe the other way around."

"I don't really remember ever being this… content." He carefully didn't say _'happy'_ , because, even though spoken words didn't change feelings that were already there, they could still be a bit frightening. And perhaps some part of him was only just superstitious enough that he didn't want to jinx his happiness. "And I know better than to deny what I have now, just because I might lose it later. That leads only to regret."

Tanner still had his wide-eyed look on Q, then he blinked in silent acknowledgement. "Regret is unprofessional," he said before he even realised the words had formed.

Q and Eve nodded, and without another word, they all raised their glasses in remembrance.

"Regret is unprofessional," they said in unison and emptied their glasses.

***

Q blinks, and is returned to the present. Certainly, he doesn't have regrets. He looks back at the paper that is still in his hands and still contains the same words.

_'Resignation from active field duty'_

Signed by James Bond.

The cogs and wheels in Q's mind work at full speed. How? When had James…? How could he have missed this?

Still completely stunned, he stands and blindly puts the paper on his desk. "I have to… I have to go home."

Eve nods (though Q doesn't see it). "Of course. And you have tomorrow off."

This should have somehow made Q react, since apparently M gave that order, but the words don't really register.

Before he can walk out the door, Eve calls him back.

"Congratulations," she says.

Q blinks and turns, some clarity returning to his eyes. "I'm not the one getting retired."

Eve just smiles. "Congratulations for getting him there."

"That wasn't just me."

"Yes, it was."

And, Q has to admit – though silently – she is probably right. Not because he gave Bond gadgets and guided him using electronic lines of sight… but because, perhaps, he gave James a reason to want to come back.

Time to find out.


	2. Bond

James Bond is a good cook when he puts his mind to it, and he can whip up recipes from all around the world. On the one hand, it is a useful tool to impress and disarm a mark. After all, very few people ascribe deadly force to a man who has just presented them with a four course meal and the accompanying wine and charming conversation. On the other hand, Bond's taste is simply too refined (when he has the opportunity to allow it) to not know how to prepare food. Years and years of fine cuisine have done the rest. That isn't to say that he cannot appreciate a simple meal, but he does prefer it to be well prepared, nonetheless.

The dinner he is making now is something he likes to call creative comfort food. It's recently become his favourite type. He doesn't have to impress the man he's cooking for anymore, but he does so love to satisfy him.

To his own surprise, he is quite calm. He has expected to be more nervous of Q finding out what he has done earlier that day. Instead, now that all is said and done and has been approved and processed, he feels at ease. And more certain that it has been the right decision with every passing minute. He smiles to himself and takes a sip of the wine he has on the counter.  
The smile widens when he hears the flat's front door open and close. When he turns around, there is Q, standing in the kitchen door with wide eyes and a generally flabbergasted expression.

Bond can't help but huff a small laugh at the sight. Q looks stunned, certainly, but also – very cautiously – happy.

"Did you have a good day at work, dear?" he gently teases him with a warm smile until Q slowly returns it.

Q has always managed to get to him… and to just _get_ him.

***

Bond returned from the mission in high spirits. Everything had gone according to plan (well, as according to plan as his missions ever went) with minimal damage to himself and his equipment. And, despite it having been low-risk, he'd had Q in his ear for most of it. (And it definitely wasn't high-risk enough to have M on the line.)

The young man was, in a word, _delightful_. Not that he didn't occasionally frustrate Bond as much as Bond frustrated him, or that he didn't know how to send cuttingly unimpressed looks at Bond's handling of Q Branch's equipment, or that the age jokes on both their sides became increasingly old… But it was all done so very much in tandem with Bond's own brand of insufferability that he couldn't but take immense pleasure from it.

Of course, then there had been the surprising (or not surprising) conclusion to their dinner a few weeks back, which showed that their compatibility wasn't only mental and verbal, but very much _physical_ as well… He'd always been able to gain pleasure from his bed partners (and of course return it), but the ease with which he and Q managed to fall together was unusual, even for someone with an elaborate collection of past experiences as Bond had it. (Which might or might not have had anything to do with the fact that he didn't have to worry about being killed when his back was turned when he was with Q.) Their tastes were very much on the same level.

And now that Bond was back, he was hoping that their last encounter meant that there might be another. They hadn't discussed what had happened between them – the companionship not really in need of words – but Bond was almost certain that he had read his quartermaster correctly when he assumed that he wouldn't be averse to meeting in private again.

It wasn't usually his preference to seek repeat performances (and he was sure that his unwritten reputation very much stated the same), but the banter over the comms on this last mission that was _only just_ this side of professional had sealed the deal for himself. Well, truth to be told, he didn't think that they sounded any less professional on the outside, but having shared a bed with Q, the words did have slightly different undertones for the two of them.

Now it was all up to Q and whether or not he would think it not quite inadvisable enough to dally with a double-oh that he would agree on another very enjoyable roll in the hay.

Since he also thought that it would improve his convincing power if he took care of his after-mission report and debrief with M first, he closed his mission so very by-the-book, it even surprised Tanner. So when he returned his equipment to Q Branch, he was entirely free for whatever they would both be amenable to. In fact, Bond would have been entirely fine to just have a good dinner with better company and leave it at that. Of course, _'entirely fine'_ didn't mean that it was his preference.

"Quartermaster," he announced his presence to Q (and his underlings) standing in the middle of the bullpen.

Q, who still had his back to the room and his eyes firmly on one of the large screens in front of him, quirked his lips. "007," he said before turning to face him. "You have shown previously unimaginable assiduousness with your paperwork, I'm told."

"News travels fast," Bond said sardonically and stepped up to Q's desk.

Q tilted his head. "We are in the news business, after all. In a manner of speaking."

Bond put his Walther and watch on the table. "And occasionally, we create the news ourselves."

Q's eyes glittered with amusement. "That is one way of putting it."

"Unfortunately, I have lost my comm link, but the data I collected is on the watch, as requested."

"Hmm," Q hummed and already handed the watch to one of his analysts to extract said data. "Small steps in the right direction, 007. It's all I can ask for, I suppose."

Bond leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Allow me to take you out to a nice dinner to make up for the loss of your comm link."

The look Q gave him went through several expressions in short succession. Surprise, memory, hope, interest, and amusement. In that order. He was very good at concealing it, however, and Bond had no doubt that most people would hardly have noticed the slower-than-usual blink.  
"I'm tempted."

Bond's cool eyes contrarily looked warm and his smirk heated. "Good," he said, confidently. "I'll pick you up at 1900?"

Q inclined his head in a single nod. "Good thing I have another suit in my office to meet with your _'nice'_ standard."

Bond smirked. "A very good thing," he said, his voice lowering to possibly illegal, sinful depths. He knew what suit Q had at the office of course, and he very much looked forward to seeing it on him. He all but sauntered out again, and Q remained mostly frozen in place for a moment longer.

Then he noticed the eyes on him and straightened. "If you could keep the gossip to a minimum," he informed his staff, "I'd be very much obliged." He smirked when the typing abruptly resumed. He didn't begrudge his branch a bit of gossip, and Bond had always been a favourite topic, anyway.

 

"You seemed surprised," Bond later said over deliciously prepared food, "when I asked you to dinner."

Q's lips gave a benign little curl. "If this is your attempt at deflecting my attention from your own surprise when you realised you wanted to take me out again, it is rather pitiful."

So _very_ delightful. Bond's answering smirk reflected both amusement and challenge… and, yes, delight. "Perhaps in the same way we were surprised and unsurprised at the way we ended dinner last time."

Q hummed a little chuckle. "Fair assessment," he conceded. "Though it is perhaps somewhat unusual for you to, uh…" He seemed at loss for (polite) words.

"Return for seconds?" Bond provided helpfully.

Q cleared his throat. "Yes, that."

Bond grinned again. "It would have been a shame not to."

Instead of snarkily accepting the compliment, Q returned it. "Hm, yes, agreed. I just didn't think I would be given the opportunity to experience it more than once."

Bond hesitated. "That isn't a problem, is it, Desmond?"

Q's grin was sincere, when he replied. "Of course not."

"I just found your company immensely satisfying," he made sure to hold Q's eyes at the word _'satisfying'_ , almost making the man snicker, "and I had hoped you might feel the same."

"Oh, I do, James, I do," Q said, taking another sip of his excellent wine. "When you're not out to destroy my equipment."

"But then I wouldn't have had an excuse to ask you to dinner today."

"I'm confident that you would have found a different excuse."

Bond chuckled. "Dessert?"

"Please."

 

This encounter was just as pleasurable as the first, though Q insisted on reclaiming some of the control he had so readily relinquished the first time.

Bond was more than amenable to let him.

"I had wondered," he said, lying back and allowing Q to explore him to his heart's content, "if that fierceness and compulsive curiosity of yours at work would appear outside the office…"

Q wolfishly grinned up at him and bit a pectoral. "I wanted to get the full Bond treatment, last time." He kissed the firm skin. "But since you came back for more, I thought it only fair to return the favour."

Bond gave a throaty laugh. "More than fair." When Q went back to work, he arched into his ministrations. "Much, much more than fair." His hands found Q's soft hair, not pushing or even directing, just _feeling_.  
Eventually, he let his eyes close and his head fall back onto the pillow when Q kissed and licked lower, and then lower still, over his balls and behind them. Bond let his legs fall open and breathed out, letting the sensations course through him. He hummed deep in his throat.  
"Clever fingers and a talented tongue…" His breath hitched and he gasped a chuckle when Q put both to use immediately following his comment. As he was being breached, another groan escaped from deep in his throat. "Should have known."  
He could hear a condom wrapper and…

"Yes…" Q breathed out, roughly, "… you should have."

When Bond opened his eyes again it was with Q's face right above his own, and he grinned widely at him, moving his hips to accommodate the lovely prick inside of him. Then he framed Q's delightfully debauched face with both hands and licked into his mouth for a slick and dirty kiss.

Q fucked with more passion than finesse, and it pushed all of Bonds buttons to being the one to make his normally composed quartermaster lose himself to pleasure so thoroughly.

 

What followed the fucking was at least as pleasurable. Breathless laughter and kisses… only to then watch Q be suddenly inspired and scribble a design on a tablet screen, right there in bed, naked and unconcerned about his audience.

Bond looked over his shoulder. "A jetpack, Q?"

"Of a sort. We'd been working on a prototype, but there were some problems with the thrusters."

Bond watched the design take form and found himself painfully aroused again. Once Q appeared happy with what he had drawn so that he would still remember it the next day, Bond bit his shoulder, growling.  
"You are… unbearably delightful…"

Q smirked and put the tablet safely out of reach. "And seeing you all hot and bothered because of my tech is worryingly titillating."

Bond just laughed and pushed him back into the pillows.

*

It felt rather safe, this thing he had with Q. It had nothing to do with his field work, where the women (and occasional men) he took to bed were as likely to take a shot at him before, after, or mid-coitus as anyone else he encountered. Q was a constant. He was trustworthy, competent, and _safe_. Right up until he wasn't.

Bond had had a good day. He was between missions and worked out a lot, taking care of his body (and Q's in his bed), and just generally feeling on top of his game. And then Q didn't arrive home after he'd texted that he was leaving HQ. A normal person would probably have waited for bit longer, expecting a traffic jam or something of the likes, but James Bond had long since learned that paranoia paid off in his line of work and waiting got you killed. Even worse, it could get _Q_ killed.

It took less than five minutes to figure out that Q's phone must have been thrown out of a moving car, and Bond thundered after the CCTV trail Q Branch offered him before M could so much as pick up the phone to learn about the latest emergency.

Vehicles were apparently switched in a blind spot in a supermarket parking, but hiding from CCTV in London is quite a feat, especially if the trail is still warm. Bond had never felt so grateful for government surveillance as in this moment. As it was, he had no trouble finding the kidnappers in record time, only taking a moment to ensure that medical evac would be following close behind.

If he could have summoned any empathy for the kidnappers, he would have hoped for their sakes that they didn't make Q actually _need_ medical attention. Since he didn't have any empathy for targets on a good day, he most certainly didn't have any for targets who went after Q. Arriving on-site, he shot to kill with efficient headshots, no heroics and certainly no discussions. He did retain the necessary alertness to only badly wound one of them for questioning. But if he died anyway, well, then that would be just too bad. 

He found Q blindfolded and tied to a chair in a locked room. "Q!"

The tension leaving Q as soon as he heard Bond's voice was both a relief and flattering. "James!"

Bond rushed to his side, removed the blindfold and then made to untie him.

Riding high on adrenaline, Q breathed rapidly and laughed an ill-sounding hysterical little laugh. "That was quick…" he gasped out.

Bond pulled him out of his chair and into his arms. "Medical evac is on its way." He kept him close but framed his face to look at him. "Are you hurt?"

Q looked at his hands as if he only just realised that he was shaking, since he was no longer tied up. He shook his head. "No, I… I don't think so."

Bond tilted his head to the side, obviously talking to the voice in his ear. "Premises secured. He's in the basement. No visible injuries. One hostile is injured and locked in a cupboard."

Bond let the medical team take care of Q once they entered the room, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not keep touching him. His eyes, however, never left Q for an instant until the ambulance arrived at HQ and Q was whisked away.

He wasn't quite sure what was more frightening. The thought that he might have been too late, or seeing the blatant trust in Q's eyes.

*

Bond of course knew that not all days at work were good ones for either him or Q (and it didn't take a kidnapping to realise that), even though they both did love their jobs. (Bond supposed that normal people had good and bad days as well, but for the likes of him, one of his bad days could quite literally cause a war.) 

They were good days for Q when he got to work on prototypes and write protocols and when missions went well. Occasionally, the paperwork drained him and a mission gone bad wrecked him, and Bond never stopped to wonder why he had always felt the urge to offer Q support in the few ways he knew how. His presence, a drink, a listening ear without any judgement, and his ability to make others forget everything, including their own names, for a few hours.

He had always supposed that Q was refreshingly unjaded for someone in his position and that it spoke to a side of Bond that used to be there, if only a little bit. Or it was a more pragmatic reason. Meaning that Bond liked to work with Q, liked to have him build amazing little trinkets and explain them with a bright light in his animated eyes or have him as his handler during missions… and if Q burned out, he'd get someone else. (He usually managed to ignore that the mere thought of having to get used to a different quartermaster didn't feel like an inconvenience, but more like a knife in his gut. Bond was good at ignoring things he didn't want to acknowledge. He was always aware of them, of course – he would have been a pretty poor spy if he wasn't – but he knew how to compartmentalise effectively. Under normal circumstances. Not-normal circumstances for example included Q getting kidnapped, and Bond being ready to fight the hounds of hell themselves with no hesitation...) Or, perhaps, he just _liked_ the brilliant young boffin; at work, in bed, during dinner, or on the couch eating leftovers and watching a Cold War documentary. It didn't bear questioning.

After one of his own missions went badly, he did start to examine his thoughts in a bit more detail, however. (Even Bond's wilful partial blindness had its limits, running double-duty as a failsafe. After all, if ignoring something causes more of a distraction than acknowledging it, it has to be acknowledged.) Because when he'd thought for a while out there that this was the day that he wouldn't make it back with a heartbeat, his only thought was that Q would have to listen.

He remembered the talk they had when Q had lost his first agent. He had been dead serious when he'd told Q that at least Sam hadn't died alone, and, at the time, he'd thought it would indeed be nice to at least have Q in his ear whenever his time inevitably came. Especially, since it wouldn't be a given. Q wasn't hooked up to the agents he guided 24/7, after all.  
But now… he thought he would prefer it if he could die knowing that Q didn't have to listen to it happening.

Though the implication of that thought worried him, he wasn't one to hesitate, or take his sweet time to weigh pros and cons, or ignore what was right in front of him (once it _was_ right in front of him), and he decided that this probably wasn't the time to start with that, either.

In the late hours, he came back to London, tired and frustrated and went to seek out Q at his home. 

When Q let him in without a comment, his expression was thankfully more weariness than pity, and – ever the quartermaster – he asked, "Did you debrief yet?"

Bond hung up his coat. "Tomorrow. Mallory's indisposed tonight." He allowed a sigh to escape. "Not much to tell anyway."

Q acknowledged that. "Are you hungry?"

Bond still faced the coat rack and eventually shook his head. "No. I ate on the plane." Not that he'd felt like it or it tasted of anything, but he had made himself. He moved to the living room and dropped onto the couch, an Q wordlessly poured him a drink and joined him.

Bond just sipped his drink, not particularly tasting this either and not even feeling like getting drunk. James Bond was too numb to drink. Who'd have thought.

Q fidgeted a bit next to him, and eventually rushed out the words he'd obviously been rolling around in his head. "I'm glad you're back."

Bond automatically quirked a little smile and looked at him. And, somewhat to his own surprise, he realised that, "I'm glad to be back." Sure, he always wanted to complete a mission successfully, and he wanted to be in a good enough shape to take the next one, but he'd never been glad to be able to come back home.  
He took another sip, and then put down the glass, unfinished. "You don't have to do it, you know," he said, keeping his eyes on the glass. He felt more than saw Q's frown.

"Do what?"

"When things don't work out in the field," Bond tried to explain. "Neither of us is completely unaffected by our companionship." And he could read people well enough to know that Q was probably already in love with him anyway. "There is some conflict of interest, surely," he added, trying to sound professional, "and I don't expect you to stay on the comm until the bitter end, if…"

"Are you suggesting that I neglect my duties when it comes to you?" Q interrupted him, calmly furious.

Bond blinked and finally turned to look at him. "Not at all."

"If I hadn't stayed on, this time, you'd be dead."

Bond straightened in his seat. "Q, I'm not saying that you are unable to do your job. I am just saying that, if it becomes apparent that there is nothing more you can do, you don't have to stay on. Not with me. You don't deserve that."

Q thunderously stared him down. "I'm not letting you die alone."

Bond felt something shatter in his heart, and he thought it might be the last bit of the barrier he'd so far convinced himself was still there. "Desmond…"

Q turned his head away and stared ahead. "No," he said firmly, holding up a hand. "You do not get to use that name to manipulate me. And you most certainly do not get to tell me that I should give anything less than my best at work." An angry flush appeared high on his cheekbones and up his neck from his chest. "And so what if there is _'companionship'_? Do you expect me to ignore that too on top of my duties and just abandon you?!" He took a deep breath. "If you _ever_ insult my professionalism _or_ my character in such a way, again…" Angrily he turned to glare at Bond again and startled. Not because Bond was suddenly close, but because now he could see his expression.

Bond lifted one hand and cupped Q's cheek. "Forgive me. That was thoughtless of me," he murmured and kissed him softly. "I never meant to imply any of that."

Q still looked angry but vaguely mollified. "Well, good." Then he briefly bit his lip and appeared to make a decision (he wasn't one to hesitate, either). "I love you, you know, so it's particularly unfair of you to say such things."

Bond smiled before he realised that the burst of warmth was happiness and not the lingering effect of a couple of sips of Scotch.

He kissed Q again, and much later that night – in the darkness of the bedroom and the comfort of Q's arms – he returned the words, making Q smile first and then smirk smugly.

"Well, good," Q said.

Bond chortled, feeling drunk on… everything.

*

"Do you ever think about quitting?" Bond asked, a non-sequitur if there ever was one.

Felix looked up from his post-mission drink he was sharing with Bond and tilted his head towards him. "Successful missions getting boring, are they?"

Bond grinned cheerfully, shaking his head. "No. Just a thought I've been having for a while now."

"How long is a while?"

Bond shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and not surprised at the fact that the thought has managed to linger in the back of his mind for so long. "About a year."  
He'd had the thought pop up every now and again ever since he and Q first used the word _'love'_. (Neither used it often, but their actions spoke of it reliably.) By now – and for all intents and purposes – he lived in Q's apartment and his own was mostly there to collect dust and give the cleaning crew something to do every once in a while. It was all an uncharacteristically domestic arrangement.

Felix' eyebrows shot up. "Normally, I wouldn't have believed that someone with a job like yours would live for a week while having doubts…"

"Not doubts, just thoughts. My work is my life." It was true after all, if it was ever true for anyone.

"But?"

"I've learned to appreciate being able to come home, recently."

Felix studied Bond for a long moment. He'd always thought that he knew the man quite well, and there weren't a great many things that would make James Bond want to return home to some apartment without the prospect of another mission.  
"Anyone I know?" he finally asked.

Bond grinned again. "You've never met in person, but you did say you were jealous of me over him." He takes another sip, still grinning.

Felix paused and then his eyes widened. "Well, hell. Every intelligence agency that knows about him is jealous, and I've seen some of the things he sends you out with," he said emphatically, grinning. " _Damn_ , James, you sly bastard!"

Bond's eyes sparkled in both amusement and pride. "Fortunately for this sly bastard, his loyalties are firm."

Felix smirked back. "Does he make guns for his boyfriend's friends?"

"Since you helped me get through this one in one piece, he might be convinced." Bond huffed. "Pretty sure actually." Q had on several occasions remarked how good an influence Felix Leiter apparently was on the return rate of Bond's electronic devices…

Felix lifted his glass. "Much appreciated." They ordered another round of drinks, and once they were left alone in their corner of the bar again, Felix asked seriously (in a carefully neutral tone that made it sound like an accusation): "Did he ask you to quit?"

"He'd never ask me to quit," Bond replied without hesitation. "He loves his job as much as I do and understands too well."

"A keeper, then?" Felix returned, apparently satisfied with the answer.

Despite Felix' light tone, Bond remained serious. "Yes." Because it was true, and it had been true for over two years. In all honesty, Q had been a keeper as the quartermaster as well as the lover. Almost from the beginning, Q had made Bond feel like he still had something to live up to, like he _could_ live up to it.  
"And he makes me want to be one."

"Hence your uncharacteristic thoughts of retirement…" Felix smirked, and Bond returned it.

"They're still just thoughts."

"Well, let me know when they become more substantiated. I'll send you a potted plant to keep you busy."

Bond laughed.

*

Bond pretended to be a bit more tired than he actually was that morning and got to enjoy a soft kiss on his cheek when Q left for work. Once he heard the front door close, he got up, showered, got dressed in comfortable clothes to lounge about at home, and then called Moneypenny. He thought that an occasion such as this one deserved the proper channels.

"Good morning, Miss Moneypenny. I would like to schedule an appointment with Himself this afternoon."

Moneypenny paused, apparently having to process Bond making such a request. _"Why don't you just break into his house like the last time you wanted to talk to him?"_

Bond grinned. "A little tradition can't hurt every now and again."

Moneypenny huffed. _"You would call basic office decorum 'traditional'…"_ He heard her typing. _"I assume it's important?"_

"Quite."

_"Mhm… You can come by the office at 1500. Do be on time; he has another appointment after that."_

"Thank you," Bond said and ended the call.

He put the phone down on the kitchen counter and went to remove the framed art print in the living room and replaced it with the one he had hidden behind the couch the day before. Quite happy with the new view, he stashed the old print in the bedroom. 

After that, he got out his laptop, making damn sure it wasn't connected in any way. He didn't want Q to know what he was up to. Not right now. He opened a new document and started to write.

 

He entered Moneypenny's domain dressed in a sharp suit and carrying a leather folder under his arm at precisely 1459.

She blinked at him, visibly surprised. Then she pointed at him with a pen. "You're freaking me out."

Bond just grinned at her. "There's no need for that."

Moneypenny looked sceptical. "I'm certain that every time you said that, you followed it up with a nice explosion."

Bond refrained from replying with something like _'going with a bang'_ , but Moneypenny could read it in his expression regardless and rolled her eyes a bit.

"You can go in," she told him. "He's expecting you."

"Thank you," he said politely and entered once she pressed the button to open the door.

M sat at his desk, reading some files. "Ah, 007. What seems to be the emergency?" despite the choice of words, he was of course quite aware that there was no emergency. Bond never asked for an appointment during an emergency; he was usually already halfway around the globe before anyone else even realised that there might be something amiss.

"No emergency, sir," Bond said, put his folder in front of M on the desk, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and took a seat.

M had the control to not frown, but he did hesitate for a moment before opening the file.

"I am resigning from active field duty, effective immediately," Bond said to go with the header of the letter inside the folder.

That actually gave M pause for an unusually long time. Then he briefly scanned the letter to the effect Bond had just told him, including the signature at the bottom.  
"That... is not something I get to hear often from a double-oh," was what he finally managed to say, returning to study Bond.

Bond's lips quirked in a small smile. "I wouldn't have wanted to deprive you of the experience, sir," he remarked dryly. "Not while it was still a choice I could make."

"I'm assuming... the quartermaster has something to do with that decision?" M asked.

"He doesn't know I'm here, or that I was planning to retire, and he never asked. And I know that you had psych keep an eye out to make sure he wouldn't suddenly try and talk me out of the service in a fit of worry..."

M had the decency to look... well, not precisely guilty. He also had the decency to not deny it. "With a relationship such as this one, that seemed prudent."

Bond was well aware of that, of course. "Naturally. I expected no different."

M nodded, slowly.

"That being said," Bond added, "of course he has something to do with my decision."

M couldn't hold back an actual small smile at that. "I should hope so." He allowed a few seconds to share a moment with Bond in complete accord. Then he drew in a sharp breath and straightened a bit in his seat. "Well, then, Mister Bond. Since you specifically resigned from field duty, may I assume that you would be willing to work for MI6 in a different capacity?" 

This time it was up to Bond to pause. He did phrase it like that for that exact reason, but, if he was honest with himself (and at this point, there was no longer a reason not to be), he wasn't entirely sure if he was suited for any of the other possibilities.  
"Well, sir, since Q will be here, and I can't quite imagine going career as a house-husband just yet, I could perhaps imagine staying on as an advisor." Bond had to give to Mallory, the man could switch gears quite quickly when the need arose...

"With your vast amount of experience and your close connection to Q Branch," he allowed himself a (very short) pause after that quip, "in addition to advising for missions, you could work with the R&D department when it comes to the feasibility of tech in the field."

Bond tilted his head. He hadn't even thought of that. He _had_ thought of perhaps working as an instructor, but he wasn't quite convinced that he wouldn't lose his temper with the newbies. What he eventually said, was, "Q might even let me blow up the occasional prototype."

"Any interest in trying your hands at instructing new agents?"

"Perhaps," Bond allowed. "But in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that it's entirely possible that I will eventually just quit altogether," he said with a slightly sardonic tilt. Which was of course quite possible. Bond knew himself well enough to realise that he might find that he'd rather not work for MI6 at all if he wasn't doing field work anymore. Then again, he might not. In the past few weeks, he had been surprised to see that he was actually at peace enough that neither prospect unsettled him.  
This was not a situation he had ever expected to find himself in. At peace.

"A detailed retirement plan wasn't a priority, I take it?"

"Frankly, sir, once I realised that my top priority was to stay alive and return home, most others lost their relevance."

M accepted that with a nod. Pragmatism. He could appreciate that in an employee. With an air of finality, he stood.

Bond followed suit, closed his jacket button again, and then took M's offered hand.

"Excellent work, 007," M said, using the designation one last time. "And congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."

M let go of the hand. "You will be on leave until we reassign you as seems apt. I suggest you confer with your partner on the matter."

Bond nodded. "I intend to."

"If at all possible, he may share your leave with you. If his work does not allow for it, I'll make sure it is arranged that he at least has tomorrow, despite his schedule."

Bond gave his best to not grin too much. If he didn't know any better, M's gesture might almost seem... sentimental.

"To celebrate this momentous occasion," M added. "Rare and unexpected as it is."

"Thank you," Bond said again.

M gave a dismissing nod. "Do please send in Miss Moneypenny when you leave, Bond." He tapped the file on his desk. "There are things that need to be processed."

"Yes, sir." He left the office and closed the door behind himself, releasing his breath. Well. This was different.  
"Miss Moneypenny," he said, putting his reaction to finally having taken this step on hold until later. "He needs you for some paperwork."

"No doubt your fault," she smirked at him.

"I'm afraid so." He turned to leave. "Should anyone be looking for me," he said cryptically, "I'll be at home."

She sent him a puzzled look. "Alright." She just assumed that what he had said would soon make more sense... or he wouldn't have said it with such mischief in his eyes.

Bond grinned to himself on the way to his car, thinking about Eve's reaction, but it wasn't the reaction he was most interested in, now. The grin softened.

***

"Q?" Bond asks when Q still stands in the door to the kitchen, unmoving.

"What did you do?" Q blurts out.

"You look like you know the answer to that," Bond says, amused.

"Is it… I mean. I didn't even check the files." Q blinks, apparently only just realising this now. "Is it even real?"

He does enjoy having managed to so derail Q's usually organised thought processes into this adorable mess. "It's real," he relieves Q of this worry.

In four large strides, Q is in front of Bond, frames his face and kisses him desperately, before pulling him into a crushing hug.

Bond just holds him. Q is trembling in his arms. "This is a different look on you…"

Q giggles almost hysterically, forcing gasps of air into his lungs until he can make himself let go of Bond enough to look him in the eyes. "But you… you love your job…" he says, helplessly.

"I love you more." His voice is very matter-of-fact. This part of the decision was the easiest.

Q blinks rapidly, trying to process all the words tumbling around in his mind. "But I… I would never… never have made you choose."

"I made myself choose, once I realised that there was a choice to make. Sooner or later, it would have come down to either live for you or die for Queen and country."

Q couldn't hold back a dry sob. "James…"

James just smiles, frames Q's burning face and kisses him softly, making him feel that this is real, he is home, he is alive, and he will stay.

When Q opens his eyes again, he seems to have decided that he is not dreaming. "What are you going to do now?" he asks, still sounding shaky.

"Hmm." Bond wraps his arms around Q's middle and sways them playfully. "Yell at agents through their ear pieces during their missions, help you blow up stuff, maybe occasionally kick some rookie arses… until I'm fed up with the whole bunker and leave altogether." He smiles benignly. "I hear I'm a good cook."

Q's cautious happiness slowly becomes more certain. Still… "Is that going to be enough?" He does know Bond well, after all. And he loves him way too much to become his one regret.

"If the work was all I lived for anymore, then, no, it wouldn't be enough. The prospect of dying in the field never used to bother me – I would have preferred it, in fact – because I never had something that made me want to not only succeed, but return home."

Curiously, Q blushes and averts his eyes, making Bond tilt his head in askance.

"What?" Bond asks when Q doesn't elaborate on his own.

"Eve congratulated me earlier on getting you to retirement…" he says and returns to look at Bond.

"Perceptive lady," Bond smirks, remembering him telling her that _'fieldwork's not for everyone'_. His lip twitches, rightfully expecting her to shove that in his face at some point in the not-so-distant future.  
"And I'm still useful on home soil," he returns to the previous topic. "They're just going to have to send people into the field who have less reason to live than I do."

Q stares at him, still struggling to find words he can sensibly utter.

Bond smirks a bit. "And don't go thinking my decision was altruistic;" he says, casually, and then adds with a growl, "it was entirely selfish." His hands possessively wander over Q's back.

Finally, the tremor running through Q like a current slowly dissipates, and after another moment, he can return the smirk.  
"You're a madman, and I love you with everything I have."

Bond's smirk turns into a wide grin that makes Q laugh into their next kiss. It ends slowly, naturally, until they only hold each other close and breathe each other's air for a long time.

"Why today?" Q murmurs against Bond's lips.

Bond smirks again. "You don't know?"

Q's kiss-foggy eyes clear and he leans back in the embrace.

Bond chuckles. "It's our anniversary."

"It is not!" Q protests. "We've had three of those, and I remembered all of them, unlike a certain agent I could mention."

"Now, now, Q, that's hardly fair," Bond admonishes him, takes his hand and pulls him out of the kitchen. "I didn't forget. I was on mission for two of them." He pulls him into the living room where he's put up the new art print.

Q freezes. "No." He looks as if his world has suddenly stopped spinning and he smacked head-first into the next wall. He can't tear his eyes from the picture.

Bond moves behind him, puts his hands on Q's hips and murmurs his ear. "Are you feeling melancholy, yet?"

"How... could you _possibly_ have remembered the date we met?"

Bond wraps his arms around Q, and they just stand there, looking at their _'bloody big ship'_.  
"I didn't. I wasn't exactly in any shape to remember much of anything that wasn't crucial at the time," he admits. "I checked the files a while back."

Q leans back into him, his smile the only indicator that he remembers their encounter vividly.

"I had the hope that my voluntary retirement wouldn't be ignominious..."

Q laughs and leans his head back onto Bond's shoulder so he can kiss his cheek. "You are many things, James Bond, but never that."

Bond turns his head to brush his lips over Q's. "Scrap?"

Q shakes his head only just enough that their lips brush some more. "Grand."

Bond's eyes water when he kisses his marvel of a quartermaster again. "You do remember."

Q doesn't think that this requires any additional input and just melts into the kiss.

"I never would have thought it possible..." Bond muses, "... the way you whipped this grand old warship into shape with your wires. An amalgamation of both of us."

A happy laugh bubbles out of Q, and he covers Bond's arms and hands with his own and just leans his back against Bond's solid chest.

"Moneypenny was right," Bond adds. "You did get me here."

Q doesn't trust himself to answer anything to that, so they just stand there, looking at the print.

Eventually, Q draws in a breath, releases it... draws it in again and says, "This is even better than Christmas."

Bond turns his head to grin at him. "Happy retirement day."

Q grins back. "Happy retirement day."

After a moment, Bond frowns in mock contemplation. "Do you think they'll let me keep the car?"

Q huffs, amused. "Nobody could possibly be stupid enough to try and take away your car." He considers that. "And a gun or two."

Bond's lips twitches. "You didn't think I always handed everything back in, did you?"

"I know you better than that."

"That you do, Q," Bond agrees. "That you do."

 

Brave new world indeed...

 

**End**

* * *

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

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